Breathe
by ijustwanttobeabritishman
Summary: Sherlock clawed at Gray's fingers, fighting for air. His lungs began to burn; his head began to swim. Gray began to look annoyed at Sherlock's refusal to pass out, and slammed Sherlock backwards into the wall again. Rated T for mild violence.


**[A/N] Hey guys! I've been wanting to write a fight scene for a while, so... here. Guess who the villain is? That's right, Ionian Gray. Well, you finally see him here. In all my other stories I use his name for "the bad guy", but I've never actually written him into any of my stories. For this one, think The Master if he were half Asian. (I don't know if he actually _is _half Asian; I've only seen a few pictures of him). **

**Also, hooray for an unoriginal title.**

****oOoOo

Sherlock let out a small "_Ah!"_ of alarm as his body was flung over the chain link fence and hurled to the ground_, _face hitting the pavement with a sickening _crunch._ He groaned and tried to roll himself over onto his back, but was stopped by a rough hand on the back of his head which forced his face to grind deeper into the pavement.

"Nice try, pretty boy," Ionian Gray growled, "but you're not getting away from me this time."

"Sherlock!" John's voice echoed through the empty alley. "Sherlock, where are you?"

Sherlock writhed under Gray's surprisingly strong hold, trying to get into a position where he could call for help. Gray growled, smashing his face into the ground and bringing it up again. Sherlock felt his scarf being slipped from his neck, allowing the cold night air to creep down, chilling him down the spine. Gray lifted his head off the ground and brought the scarf through Sherlock's mouth, pulling it tight. Sherlock let out a small _"mmph!" _of protest. The outburst was met with a kick to the stomach.

"Don't make a _sound, _you hear me? Or you'll wish you were dead," Gray snarled, pulling the scarf tighter.

"Sherlock?" John's voice came again, slightly further away. "Sherlock!" John's shouts were decreasing in volume; he was walking away. Sherlock let out a huff. John knew absolutely _nothing _about tracking.

"That's better," Gray smirked, pulling the scarf tight and tying it in a knot. Sherlock remained silent, staring at the ground. He vaguely heard John' voice again, but it was too far away; the words were incomprehensible. "Now, let's have some fun, shall we?"

Gray hauled Sherlock up by his shoulders, pinning him to the grimy alley wall. Sherlock gave him a withering glare that would have made a common murderer melt into a pile of terrified goo. Gray, unfortunately, did not.

"Aw, don't look sad," Gray pouted, petting Sherlock's hair. Sherlock recoiled, sweeping his eyes over Gray's figure, trying to identify him as closely as he could_. Young, maybe in early twenties? Thirties? Probably twenties. Short blonde hair, tall, muscular, fit, slight stubble on the chin, and small dark eyes. Maybe he was half Asian? Best to do a background check._

Gray chuckled. "Committing me to memory, Sherly? How sweet. Get a good look, eh?" He laughed, pinning both of Sherlock's hands in one of his above the detective's head and sliding the other one up Sherlock's chest until it came to rest around his neck. Sherlock held his gaze, refusing to look away, and Gray began to squeeze.

Sherlock let out a small choked sound, keeping his expression as blank as he could.

"I must say," Gray smirked, cocking his head to one side and staring at Sherlock as if he were an interesting puzzle. "I wish I could have had more time. But, seeing as I'm being expected, I'll have to cut our meeting short." The hand tightened. Sherlock hacked, releasing a garbled noise. "Oh, shut up," Gray whined, releasing Sherlock's hands to grasp his neck more firmly.

Sherlock clawed at Gray's fingers, fighting for air. His lungs began to burn; his head began to swim. Gray began to look annoyed at Sherlock's refusal to pass out, and slammed Sherlock backwards into the wall again, causing a rush of precious oxygen to sweep out of Sherlock's lungs.

Sherlock's vision was speckled with black dots; he could barely identify Gray's face. He forced his stomach outward and inward, pushing his last bits of oxygen to his limbs. Shoving all the energy he had left into his legs, he slammed his right foot upwards, in between Gray's legs, sending the blonde haired man howling to the ground. Sherlock collapsed onto the pavement, closing his eyes and gulping in lungfuls of air, not caring about the man kneeling beside him. Gray's noise of pain had been loud enough to alert anyone in the vicinity- John should be there soon.

Sherlock barely registered two hands grasping him from behind, shoving his face back into the asphalt, but kept his thought focused on inhaling deeply, holding the air for two, three, four, five seconds, then letting it all rush out in a shaky exhale. He barely heard the shot fired through the alley, or Gray's shout of pain. He didn't even acknowledge John's worried voice, asking him if he was hurt. When Sherlock felt someone shaking him, he opened his eyes slowly to find John leaning over him, terror etched in his face.

Sherlock smiled softly, breathing in, then out. In, then out. He didn't hear John's questions, or his assurance that everything was going to be okay: he'd called Lestrade and they should be here soon He kept his focus on the steady rhythm of breathing in, then out. In, then out.

Everything was okay.

John was here, and everything was okay.

Sherlock closed his eyes and stopped thinking.


End file.
